


Glow

by LyingMonsters



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff without Plot, Kissing, M/M, Scars, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingMonsters/pseuds/LyingMonsters
Summary: It’s times like these, when it’s very late or very early and all he can think of is how much he’s in love with Feliciano, that Ludwig thinks his heart might light up with it.





	Glow

Sometimes, late at night when it’s quiet, Ludwig thinks he can see his heart glowing.

Years have passed since the war, since their alliance and the gunfire that always backed his voice, since his heart first glowed, but he’s still in love. Everything in the world has changed, but there has always been a part of Ludwig’s chest that’s lit up for Feliciano.

And now the war is over and the world is healing and Feliciano is beside him. Ludwig looks at him, hair spread on the pillow in the pale moonlight. His heart beats, wrist, neck, chest, _in love, in love, in love_ , so fierce it nearly hurts. The moonlight slides over his skin and his hair.

‘Beautiful,’ Ludwig whispers, brushing his hair out of his face. Feliciano stirs at the touch.

‘Ludwig?’

‘Go back to sleep,’ Ludwig tells him. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’ Feliciano chuckles and his breath tickles Ludwig’s wrist.

‘Mmm.’ He reaches out without opening his eyes and his fingers weave in the back of Ludwig’s hair. ‘Kiss me?’

Ludwig does, slow and careful, and Feliciano smiles into the kiss, and there is a warm and liquid sort of wonderful soaking through his chilled skin from where Feliciano touches him. He presses closer, and Feliciano’s hand grips at his tank top.

‘Beautiful,’ Ludwig repeats. Feliciano is almost smiling too much to kiss him, the hand in his hair gentle and guiding him forward again.

‘After all this time?’ he asks with a small smile. Ludwig almost laughs at that-after the wars and the flames, he is radiant now.

‘Especially.’

Feliciano laughs a bit, pulling away to look into his eyes. ‘You’re beautiful, too,’ he says, the warmth in his voice steeled by insistence.

Ludwig hums noncommittally and drops his gaze. He feels colder. The white scars underneath his shirt prickle. Feliciano cups his chin and tips his face up. Ludwig drags his eyes upwards. Feliciano is close, close enough that the moonlight has lost its luster on the barely crooked bridge of his nose or the perhaps too-deep set of his eyes or the roughness of the back of his neck and the glow in his chest suddenly feels so bright that Ludwig almost asks how Feliciano doesn’t notice it. His heart beats- _perfect, perfect, perfect._

‘You are,’ Feliciano whispers. Their foreheads bump.

Ludwig closes his eyes and feels Feliciano’s fingers ghost over his cheekbones. Sometimes only he can convince him of it, he knows, if his scars sting as if they were fresh and he cannot see anything but them. If they burn, like now.

‘Shh,’ Feliciano soothes. ‘Beautiful.’

His touch is warm with sleep. It moves across his shoulders, his back, sending slow curls of heat through his body. It’s heaven with Feliciano’s voice crooning _beautiful, beautiful_ and his touch everywhere until his hands dip to where his tank top doesn’t cover and his mind fills with images of his scars fresh again and no, no, no-

‘Wait, wait, Feliciano, no,’ he pushes Feliciano’s hands away in panic because his hands are brushing over that skin, that reason he wears dress shirts and belts and anything to cover it, collarbones to hips a written history of war-surely he bleeds from the cruel words now-and Feliciano pulls back so fast he crashes back against the wall.

‘Oh god, Ludwig, I’m so sorry,’ he stammers. His hands flutter helplessly millimeters from his skin, not knowing how to apologize, stunned silent. Their eyes meet across bare inches, wide and terrified, pulse pounding. Ludwig’s head clears and all he feels is shame at panic and overreaction and white marks underneath his clothes.

Feliciano reaches for him and Ludwig folds into his arms, presses his face into his shoulder.

‘You’re shaking, Ludwig. I’m sorry.’ Feliciano smooths a hand over his back, over every notch in his spine. His nerves light up where he touches, but it isn’t enough through the fabric. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have the words. Feliciano has seen his scars before, but they burn now and he fears they’ll be bloody again if he looks down.

Feliciano murmurs to him, apologizes over and over.

‘I didn’t ask if I could, I’m sorry-’

‘My fault,’ Ludwig says finally, managing to meet his eyes.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Feliciano insists. He reaches up and cups Ludwig’s face, eyes searching. ‘Can I kiss you?’

Ludwig nods. Feliciano leans forward slowly, carefully, and fits their mouths together.

The liquid wonderful feeling is back, soaking up through every part of his body from his chest. He runs his fingers over Feliciano’s hand, up his arm, brushing over the tail of his hair. Feliciano doesn’t move away, and Ludwig curls a loose hand against the dip of his skull to press him closer.

When they pause, Feliciano rests their foreheads together. Ludwig aimlessly plays with his hair, focused entirely on Feliciano’s eyes. Amber and soft and adoring, and the liquid wonderfulness suffuses every part of him from the warm glow in his chest, down to his bones.

‘Feliciano,’ he says quietly. ‘Focus on me.’

He does, and Ludwig releases his hand and tugs at the hem of his shirt, letting him see.

Feliciano reaches out and touches him, just barely outlining the scar near his hip. Ludwig closes his eyes so not to see the crimson that must stain Feliciano’s skin and feels every touch of his fingers so sharply, too soft on the violent mark. It feels wrong and horribly, horribly cold.

‘Feliciano,’ he says, not sure what he wants. Feliciano’s hand brushes the hair from his eyes.

‘Look at me, Ludwig.’

He tries to but the feel of the horror against Feliciano’s fingers is too much and he keeps them closed.

‘Ludwig, open your eyes. I promise it will be okay.’

He does this time. Feliciano’s hand brushes the scar. That’s all it is-just an old, healed scar, and his skin is smooth and free of blood.

‘You…’ Ludwig takes his hand and runs a thumb over the back.

‘It’s okay,’ Feliciano promises. His free hand rubs the hem of his shirt unconsciously, worrying.

‘Feliciano, it’s okay.’ Ludwig touches his other hand, and Feliciano looks down. He seems almost confused for a second before he smiles a bit, takes a slow breath and pulls up his own shirt.

His body is tanned and sculpted but it is scarred, too, and some of the marks are old, older than they have any right to be. It reminds him how old Feliciano really is.

‘I have them too,’ he says. He looks lost, staring down at them. Ludwig’s mind flickers back to himself, of all the _wars_ and the pain, god, the _pain_ -

‘Ludwig.’

Feliciano’s voice drags him back.

‘I’m sorry.’

Feliciano shakes his head. He still looks lost in himself, in his long, long history, and the only thing Ludwig can think to take the pain away is to touch him, bring him back, worship the curve of his neck where it meets his jaw, the set of his shoulders, to kiss him again.

Feliciano’s hand finds the scar on his hip again, but this time it isn’t so bad. The images of crimson recede. Ludwig kisses him again, touches him feather-light on neck and collarbone and chest until Feliciano is undone in his hands.

‘Here,’ Feliciano gasps, takes his hand, palm-to-palm and then presses it to the scar that crosses his stomach. Ludwig traces it. The harshness has been barely worn away by the years. He follows it upwards until his knuckles touch fabric and Feliciano pulls his shirt off.

The first thing he sees is a battlefield of scars before it redraws itself into Feliciano. His eyes still want to track plans across the curves of his stomach and plot points across his chest.

So he does, with touches and kisses and whispers of ‘ _You’re so beautiful._ ’ A war without violence, without hate. He learns again the topography of years and years of cruel worlds, rewriting the way they could have met into something softer and beautiful as one of Feliciano’s paintings.

Feliciano gasps into his touch.

‘ _More_.’

The word is a breath against his neck, a pleading question and a command; how can he refuse? He ghosts a touch along Feliciano’s right hip and up his side and spreads his fingers along his ribs. His heart hums just beyond his touch.

‘Of course.’

‘Kiss me again,’ Feliciano insists. Ludwig looks at him and all his history written on his skin and he does, of course he does, what else could he do with Feliciano beautiful in front of him?

There are lines to Feliciano’s body where they merge and flower out and twine back together. His spine and his shoulders, his neck where it meets his jaw, the curve of his smile. Ludwig touches each place and holds onto the dip of his spine and the broadness of his shoulders and presses him onto the sheets to kiss him again, again, again.

When they pause, gasping for breath, Feliciano’s heart is fluttering. His eyes are wide with adoration. They are barely centimetres apart, and their shared breaths are hushed and barely stirring. The world takes pause for a wonderful second.

‘I trust you,’ Feliciano whispers, and closes his eyes. His hands press at the bottom of Ludwig’s ribs, stroke tiny circles in the impressions. Ludwig lets everything else fall away. He can see Feliciano’s breathing, his chest rising and falling quick and light. Waiting. Trusting, giving himself entirely over and letting Ludwig see him in his fullness.

‘I trust you, too.’

Ludwig brushes a thumb over his cheek and Feliciano turns into it. His breath is warm and his laugh is warmer.

‘Kiss me?’

Ludwig brushes a finger over his closed eyelids, steadying against his face. He touches him and Feliciano’s chest swells, and their kiss sends the liquid wonderfulness soaking through every inch of him, and the world is warm and maybe gentler and softer when he’s around him, around Feliciano. There is a glowing part to his chest and it lit up for him, always and forever ago.

Feliciano groans, a soft sound at the back of his throat. His fingers tighten on Ludwig’s sides.

‘Ludwig.’

‘I’m here,’ he whispers. Feliciano’s breath brushes over his neck.

‘I know,’ he says finally, relief and exhilaration shining through his words. ‘I know.’

Because finally, finally, after everything, after the glow in his chest had haunted him for years, after rises and falls and scars-finally he is here. Feliciano has been there through the ash and gunfire and now he is _here_ and the thought makes his heart race.

‘Feliciano, look at me.’

Feliciano opens his eyes, hands still curled in the fabric of his tank top. Ludwig moves away just enough to pull up the edge of his shirt and allow Feliciano to run a finger over the scar again.

Ludwig shudders. The feeling is still alien, but the warmth of his touch is something to focus on, to ground himself in. Feliciano kisses him again, and that chases the cold away, warms the world back to familiar, back to safety and home.

‘More,’ he pleads. Feliciano pushes against his shoulders and his back meets the cool sheets. The heat of his mouth is everything and his hands hold tight, on the bare skin next to the scar.  

Feliciano traces the scar up over his stomach and looks him in the eyes.

‘The rest.’ Feliciano’s voice is gentle and wondering. ‘Can I see you? All of you?’

Ludwig nods slowly, and pushes his shirt off. He doesn’t want to look down. He’s seen the map of what has happened enough, every single night. He closes his eyes.

Feliciano touches the line near his hip and his fingers paint strokes up his torso in loops and swirls until he’s dizzy with it, drunk on the feeling of his warmth and his touch and his voice and his everything, everything. He is drunk on Feliciano Vargas and it makes his head spin.

‘Ludwig.’

‘Yes?’

‘Open your eyes,’ he whispers. Ludwig does and it is bright even though it is barely glowing outside. Feliciano kisses him and his fingers hover above his chest, his heart, his scars. ‘Ludwig, may I?’

He nods. Feliciano rests his fingers on the scar that splits his chest and for a second, the world stops. There is only him and Feliciano and the electricity that jumps where his fingers meet the line.

Battles and wars and walls. There is more than enough reason for him to scar like this, but he hates the sight of it. Every time. The familiar sourness rises in his throat.

‘Ludwig, look at me,’ Feliciano says quietly. Ludwig drags his eyes up from the havoc on his chest. Feliciano’s eyes are gold and alight and everything. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he says. ‘Beautiful.’ He repeats it as he sweeps a finger along the white line. His fingers mark it, the crooked border over his heart, and pauses for a single second. Then he draws, paints, puts him back together by tracing messy zigzags across the line, pulling the divide together. Every stroke of his fingers sets off fireworks in Ludwig’s chest, and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks he’ll pass out.

Feliciano finishes the line and his finger lifts from the scar. Ludwig is almost cold until Feliciano kisses the scar and his body flushes with heat again and he tilts his head up with a gasp of _Feliciano, Feliciano_.

‘Beautiful,’ Feliciano repeats. The word makes him dizzy with love. ‘Ludwig, you’re beautiful.’ The words hum in his head and the world is warm and everything, everything is Feliciano. The glowing in his chest lit up for him, always, and Ludwig wonders if Feliciano can see it, feel it humming through his hand, glowing through his fingers. If he knows how much Ludwig adores him, everything about him.

He doesn’t know how long it is until Feliciano’s mouth meets his and his palm presses against the scar, listening for his heart, pressing above the light, making him whole. The world floats.

The glowing part to his chest lit up for him years and scars and worlds ago, right underneath where Feliciano’s hand is pressed, but though everything else has changed, his heart has never changed it’s longing. He reaches out as Feliciano falls towards sleep and feels his heart beating, lit up from inside. Feliciano smiles.

‘I love you,’ Ludwig murmurs. Feliciano kisses him softly, gently.

‘I love you, too,’ he tells him.

Ludwig kisses him again, glowing under his palm.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I think I’m entitled to indulge. 
> 
> :: Hearing pine needles falling onto the roof of a tent as you fall asleep


End file.
